


Private Eyes

by Diary



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe – Death Note Fusion, Angst and Feels, Family, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Tags May Change, Unsafe Sex, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23048137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: AU. What if Connor Walsh had Shinigami eyes? WIP.
Relationships: Oliver Hampton/Connor Walsh
Comments: 9
Kudos: 19





	Private Eyes

As soon as Connor goes into class, a string of names catches his eyes.

He doesn’t give much thought to the woman sitting in the front row when he sees her engagement ring, but the man sitting next to her has two definite sets of names: Christophe Edmund and Wesley Gibbins.

“His birth name is Christophe,” Rice says. “He goes by Wes now.”

Suddenly, Wes numbers shift dramatically.

It’s always creepy when a person’s numbers change right in front of him, and he hates it when they go down instead of up.

“Oh, no, I wasn’t hitting on you,” Wes says.

He glances at Rice. There’s no need for clarification on the fact Wes truly wasn’t.

Still, what would be the fun in not poking at this poodle? Sure, he’ll die too soon, but he’s not going to die within the next few months.

“Nice try, player.” Spotting his seat, he cuts off Wes’ further pathetic protestations of innocence with, “You should find your seat. You don’t want to be a sitting duck when the shooter gets here.”

Please, he finds himself thinking, don’t let it be by a gun.

He frequently reads the statistics on gun violence, and the fact largely darker skinned black and brown people are the primary victims is something he’s mostly come to terms with. He’s not going to change the world significantly, at least, not for the better, but it’s- harder to push the feelings aside when he comes across some wide-eyed, genuinely trying to overcome natural shyness- it’d probably be racist to think of Wes here as a boy, but Wes has just recently turned 21.

“My God, you have no idea what you’ve just walked into,” he finds himself saying aloud.

Finding his own seat, he sits down.

…

Instead of bringing her newest client, a secretary accused of trying to kill the boss she was having an affair with, into the classroom, Professor Keating crowds everyone into the Keatings’ cottage, and whether she’s an attempted murderer or not, he feels sorry for the secretary when she exhibits clear signs of claustrophobia.

After he leaves the cottage, he finds himself looking at the missing posters of a redhead woman, Lila Stangard, plastered all over the walls.

He hadn’t noticed earlier, but: She’s dead. There are no numbers, no name, above her head in the photos.

Going to his car, he puts on his Bluetooth headseat, and checking to make sure it’s visible before he starts the car, he asks, “Did the secretary do it? Poison her boss?”

“Do you care?”

He doesn’t want to. “Any ideas for what a good defence would be?”

“Sink or swim,” Rice reminds him.

“Right. She’s white, thin, a little bit of a plain Jane, but not hard on the eyes. The best argument would probably be that she didn’t grasp the severity of his allergy. It could be argued she just meant to cause minor pain. Scare him.”

“All you humans are hard on my eyes.”

“Yeah, well, as established, most humans would assume you’re a demon.” He gets to his apartment. “If she did intentionally poison him, the fact she didn’t succeed in killing him, do you know what happens when she dies?”

“No. I doubt most Shinigami would trouble themselves with a human who attempted murder using human methods.”

“I’m going to order out. If it comes, will you guard the food while I shower?”

“Yes.”

After calling his order in, he tapes an envelope with the money and tip to his door.

When he gets out of the shower, a receipt is taped to the door, and the bag of food is against the wall next to the door. Taking it inside, he says, “Thanks.”

“I took some money out of your wallet and added it to the tip. If you’d seen the delivery human, you’d have done the same thing.”

Going through his wallet, he’s relieved to find Rice only took another five dollars.

Setting on his couch with the food, he starts looking up articles on people who’ve been accused of poison via allergen.

…

Rice has been quiet since they left class.

“You don’t agree with Professor Keating’s idea of presenting the victim’s business partner as a potential suspect?”

“It’s just another way you and humans are so strange. This secretary is not paying you. And yet, you are intent on helping her avoid legal punishments to the point you’d be willing to facilitate another human who has done nothing either good or bad to you facing said punishments.”

“I’m intent on helping Professor Keating help her. Doing well under Keating will net me more experience. Hopefully, this experience will help me get high honours and grades when I graduate, which, means I’ll have a better chance of getting a good job instead of being stuck in some boring, low-paying free legal clinic where I probably won’t even have my own office. Right now, if I could win the trophy and get one of my exams off, that’ll really help with the grade part.”

“And,” he finishes, “we’ve talked about how no legal justice is ever really about justice.”

The American penal system demands a steady supply of fresh bodies. This will never change. If one defendant manages to escape incarceration and/or huge fines, ten more people won’t be so lucky.

At least, some people can be helped, and it might as well be those who give him something in return.

“I’m going for a run.”

Rice tosses a bottle at him. “Remember, no more than thirty minutes.”

Managing not to roll his eyes, he says, “Got it.”

…

He realises now he shouldn’t have underestimated Michaela Pratt.

His assessment of her as a prissy, self-righteous snob stands, but she’s willing to truly play dirty.

“Is claiming to the first secretary’s doctor that she’s an insurance person to get medical information legal?”

Giving a slight shake of his head as he looks around, he sees no one’s near him, and he types out why Michaela’s unlikely to be caught or punished if what she’s done is discovered.

“Interesting girl,” Rice comments.

…

“I found out who handles IT for the client’s boss.”

Confusion radiates from Rice.

“Computer stuff. I need to find out if the disgruntled business partner put anything usefully incriminating in an email.” Going over to his closet, he finds a suit. “What do you think of this one?”

“All of your clothes are hideous.”

He doesn’t know what he expected. He _knows_ how bizarre Rice’s sense of fashion is.

Thank God for his sister, Gemma. He’d never managed to prove to her that Rice was real, but being willing to indulge him about his imaginary friend, she’d gently guided him away from taking Rice’s suggestions on what he should wear during second grade without making Rice angry in the process.

If she hadn’t, he’d’ve, at minimum, been a complete social pariah.

Deciding to go with it, he heads to the bar most of the IT from the firm are likely to drink at.

Once he gets there, he’s looking around when unfamiliar letters catch his eyes. There’s a handsome man with geeky glasses that make him even more desirable. In English is _Oliver Hampton_ , but there are non-English letters, too.

Grabbing his cell phone, he goes to a quiet corner to put it to his ear. “Oliver, that man over there, those aren’t Japanese letters.”

“No. Tagalog,” Rice says.

Oliver’s going to die too young.

Still, it isn’t such a bad age; it’s better than Wes by a long shot. Hopefully, Oliver will be able to find someone, maybe have some kids, be happy in the time he has.

“You’ve caught his attention. Do you believe you can get the information from him?”

Slipping his phone back in his pocket, he says, “If he’s into men at all, definitely.”

Based on the furtive glance Oliver just shot him, Oliver is.

It occurs to him as he’s walking over that he doesn’t even know if Oliver is IT or, if he is, if he’s competent at his job, but he brushes the thoughts aside.

The men Oliver are talking to all fall silent when he arrives in a way that suggested they were talking about him. Catching Oliver’s eyes despite Oliver’s blatantly obvious attempts to not make eye contact, he says, “Hi. Connor Walsh.”

Suddenly, Oliver’s numbers change, and he manages not to laugh, but he doubts he manages to keep from smiling.

Oliver’s numbers just went up significantly.

Realising Oliver is done introducing himself and is now giving him an unsure, half-suspicious look, he quickly offers, “Nice to meet you, Oliver. Buy you a drink?”

Rice laughs at the not-so-subtle kick one of the men gives Oliver.

“Um, yeah, that would be nice, thank you. A maker’s Manhattan, two cherries.”

Getting it, he sees Oliver’s coworkers are now a distance away from Oliver, and he can’t resist saying, “So, you know, your coworkers seem to want a show. So, just say the word, and we can start making out.”

“Ignore them. I just- I don’t talk to guys at bars that often.”

“It’s obvious why,” Rice comments.

He wishes he could throw something at Rice, and he shoves the guilt away as best he can. No one really knows anyone, but he’d be willing to bet Oliver’s a genuinely good guy.

If he’d met Oliver on a night he wasn’t trying to get something for work, it’d be fun to just make these insecurities completely disappear for a few hours.

It’s easy enough to bring the conversation around to Oliver’s job (less easy to ignore Rice’s reaction to his own claim of working in a bank), and he guesses it’s luck when Oliver turns out to be in IT.

When he brings up the secretary, Oliver says, “The legal department warned us not to talk about that,” and he’s disappointed, but he also knows, maybe, this is for the best.

As he’s getting out his card to give to Oliver, another man walks by, and sharing a look with him, he reflects that’s an interesting name. Maybe, this man would be up for some fun.

“Uh, okay. But no one can know I told you this.”

He suddenly realises- I’m not that guy, he’s tempted to say, except, he knows he is. You aren’t that guy, you shouldn’t be, you’re better than that, he’s also tempted to say, but then, he doesn’t really know Oliver, and when it comes to the question: Am I really going to turn down sex and the information?

The answer is no. He could probably get the latter without the former, but he has a feeling he’d really regret not going for the former.

“I promise. In fact, why don’t we go somewhere a little more private so that no one hears you telling me?”

…

“You really didn’t need to buy me dinner.”

“Granted, I’m a law student, not a banker, but trust me, I’m not some struggling student getting by on Ramen. The five dollar sandwiches aren’t going to break me.”

Chuckling, Oliver gives him a small smile, and he wants to see Oliver grinning without thought, hear him laugh, and-

You don’t even really know this guy, he reminds himself.

“Here.” Oliver hands him the emails.

Still, he knows enough to know he definitely isn’t going to just leave now that he got them.

Setting them aside, he pulls Oliver up, and stripping off his own shirt, he promises, “I’ll stop if you don’t like something,” before kneeling down.

Oliver tastes incredible.

“I- I thought all you wanted from me were those emails.”

The realisation Rice isn’t around and isn’t nagging him about using a condom makes him aware he’s likely on borrowed time. There are some things he wants to do before Rice pops back into the apartment.

Coming back up to kiss Oliver, he works on getting the shirt off, and once he does, he pushes Oliver onto the bed. “I did, but I want this, too. Turn over.”

Oliver does, and he gets to work on tasting other parts of Oliver.

…

A familiar thwack on the head has him waking up.

“Really, R-” He feels Oliver beside him. “Right. I should get up.”

An eye roll is Rice’s response, and he definitely regrets teaching Rice this gesture.

Oliver wakes when he sits up.

“Hey, I need to go, but first, you’re going to call my phone.” Finding his pants, he digs his wallet out to get his card.

“Why are you having him do this?”

“Because, if I just leave you with my number, you’re probably going to assume it’s a fake, and you’re not going to call. And besides, it’ll be easier to save yours if you call.”

“For the record, I could easily find out if it were a fake or not without doing this.” Nevertheless, Oliver calls, and he adds the number to his contacts. “And I’m not that pathetic.”

“I never said you were pathetic at all,” he points out. After he’s dressed, he kisses Oliver. “Thanks for last night, Ollie.”

He grabs the emails on his way out.

…

There’s a university get-together, and when he’s getting ready for it, Rice asks, “Are you inviting Oliver?”

“No. It’s not really a thing students should take a date to. Besides, he hasn’t called yet.”

“You could call him.”

“But I won’t. I like him, but- he’s insecure. If he decides I’m worth it, he’ll get over that enough to call. There are other things I’d much rather be doing with and to him and having him do to me than trying to convince him of what he should already know about himself.”

…

“Explain why this tape of the secretary buying aspirin has gotten your professor so angry. She’s not allergic to it. She might need it for human reasons. Buying something someone else is allergic to can’t logically be a crime, can it?”

“What have we established about applying logic to humanity?”

“It’s often an exercise in futility.”

“Right. There’s still room for reasonable doubt, but when a person is poisoned with an allergen and a person in intimate contact with them is known to have been handling the allergen shortly before the poisoning, it is pretty suspicious.”

Wes sits down next to him, and clicking the Bluetooth, he takes it off.

“Who was that,” Wes asks.

“Just a friend. What’s up with you and Professor Keating?”

Out of the five she’s picked to help on this case, she seems to like Wes the most. Laurel Castillo and Asher Millstone clearly annoy her, and in the latter’s case, he can understand, but all he’s really getting from Laurel is that she might have slept with one of Professor Keating’s assistants, Frank. Other than this, she’s quiet but not shy, and from what he’s seen of her notes, incredibly organised.

“Up with? Nothing.”

“He’s lying, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. You’re a terrible liar, Waitlist.”

“Okay. Uh, Laurel and I were talking, and she disagrees, but I was thinking, about this case, what if Professor Keating argued…”

…

Wes’ idea had merit, but Professor Keating wins the case her own way.

That night Rice examines the trophy. “Do you know which exam you’ll use it on?”

“Not yet.” He turns on the TV. “Want to watch some-”

Lila Stangard’s photo is on the screen, and the announcer talks about a body found in a sorority house tank.

It’s unconfirmed that the body is hers, but a strong feeling inside tells him it is. That she was murdered.

“Hey.” He glances at Rice. “Do you know who killed her?”

“It’s better you don’t know that,” is the quiet reply.

He starts to ask why, but his phone starts ringing, and hoping it’s Oliver, he scrambles to find it.


End file.
